There is an undeniable undeadness about me. Personality-wise, note the absence of vitality, the definite disinterest in human endeavors, the cold distantness, the moderated misanthropic streak. Physically, observe the almost preternatural pallor of the skin; the surprising strength in the tall, slender frame; the aqulinity of the face, beset by a pockish affliction as if an adverse reaction to sunlight exposure; the singular prominence of the cuspids, less fang-like after orthodontia, but still possessing an air of the predatory.

These traits bespeak the magnificent immortal monster bound within this sordid shell, quietly biding the Dawn of the Dead. For whatever clarion call coaxes the corpses from their eternal repose to limp the land in relentless lobe-lust must likewise rouse from the depths of the soul the latent god-like Nosferatu. Then, my friends, shall I be granted the awesome awakening I've awaited so long. And gifted thus with superhuman mental and physical powers, emancipated from this pathetic prison of human constraints, merriment will I make.

Yes, the zombies shall have their day; but with it shall come my eternity.